


Le Déjeuner du Matin

by Drabbleshy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad French, Because I adore freckles, Drabble, Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, Favourite Poem, Français | French, Freckles, French, Gryffindor, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by Poetry, Jacques Prévert, M/M, Nudity, Partial Nudity, Poetry, Slytherin, Slytherin Chambers, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drabbleshy/pseuds/Drabbleshy
Summary: That fragile, pale skin made Potter wish to jump and sit on the ground, in front of him, and run the backs of his fingers across the man’s cheeks. To remember and touch every freckle that crossed his face, the universe and far-away stars splattered onto his face. “If you weren’t so charming.”





	Le Déjeuner du Matin

“Potter,” a young man purred, his dark brown locks managing to shine in the sun still, a red glitter to it. “Hold still.”

“Maybe,” the other replied, “I could remain still if your laugh wasn’t that charming.” He paused, for effect, to see him turn crimson, up to his ears. That fragile, pale skin made Potter wish to jump and sit on the ground, in front of him, and run the backs of his fingers across the man’s cheeks. To remember and touch every freckle that crossed his face, the universe and far-away stars splattered onto his face. “If you weren’t so charming.”

The man meant to move, to rise, but a pen pointed sternly in his direction made him rethink it. “Sit. Merlin’s sake, you’re going to ruin my dra--”

“That’s your problem, Starchild,” Potter interrupted, waving a hand and an arm about that had been laid upon his risen knee and had been placed back with a sly, yet innocent smile with a look from the other man. “You only do drawings. And while they are Marvelo-us-” Starchild gave him a stare- “Paintings would be much more… entertaining. Life-sized, please and thank you.”

“Would you like me to get on my knees, too?” the boy countered, looking delighted despite his words and tone. He now sat crossed legged, still sketching, drawing and inking.

“If you must.” After all, Potter had been stretched on the green-covered bed, half sitting, an emerald-shamrock coloured cover hiding away his  _ special _ regions. The other sat in a chair, a robe wrapped around him, Gryffindor-marked no less. He had a way with many people, a charming fellow was he; and so he had ways with the house elves, too. Only that was the reason that the boys had gotten refreshments and snacks at leisurely times when they had shared rooms and beds, and yet none knew of their  _ relations.  _ At least no Human or Ghost had. So, Starchild dropped his notebook into the now empty chair. He walked to a table with his coffee, by a tall, slim window and sat once more. Potter watched, a poem coming to his mind, one that Tom had recited in French, and,  _ though Potter was still learning,  _ he at least spoke the title and the name of the author in the man’s mother language:  _ “Le Dejeuner matin, Jacques Prevert. _ ”

The other smiled, happy, nearly chirping at it. One would think that a man such as himself would be quick to remember and recompose himself, but no. Not in front of his lover. “Close, my love. But you forget your accents and the way the French language flows.  _ Le Déjeuner du matin, Jacques Prévert.” _ He turned around, for his coffee.

 

_ “He poured the coffee  _ __  
_ Into the cup  _ __  
_ He put the milk  _ __  
_ Into the cup of coffee  _ __  
_ He put the sugar  _ __  
_ Into the coffee with milk  _ __  
_ With a small spoon  _ __  
_ He stirred  _ __  
_ He drank the coffee  _ __  
_ And he put down the cup  _ __  
_ Without speaking to me  _ __  
_ He lighted  _ __  
_ A cigarette  _ __  
_ He made circles  _ __  
_ With the smoke  _ __  
_ He shook off the ash  _ __  
_ Into the ashtray  _ __  
_ Without speaking to me  _ __  
_ Without looking at me  _ __  
_ He got up  _ __  
_ He put  _ __  
_ A hat on his head  _ __  
_ He put on  _ __  
_ A raincoat  _ __  
_ Because it was raining  _ __  
_ And he left  _ __  
_ In the rain  _ __  
_ Without a word  _ __  
_ Without looking at me  _ __  
_ And I buried  _ __  
_ My face in my hands  _ _  
_ __ And I cried.”

 

“Tom,” was now standing in front of an open window, snow blowing in, and an occasional distant sound of Christmas carols, bells and perhaps even shouting and laughter, too.

“Harry,” laid uncovered, the sheets offered to the man,  _ his _ man, in hopes that they are to be wrapped around them both. Starchild - Tom dropped Potter’s robes, elegantly stepped to the bed and laid on the other.

He wrapped them both, close together, and they both, in unison spoke. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired and holds one of my favourite poems, "Le Déjeuner du matin" by Jacques Prévert. This is an English translation of the French poem.


End file.
